


10 Hours on a Train

by Cerberusia



Category: Callan (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Casual Sex, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 06:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20271625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: Set duringHeir Apparent.Meres was making that face at him again."Don't know what you're making cow-eyes at me for, son. Can't you find some other poor soul on this train who'll submit to your villainous charms?""Who said anything aboutsubmitting?" Meres smiled an indolent smile, and stretched in a way he probably thought was seductive.





	10 Hours on a Train

Meres was making that face at him again.

"Don't know what you're making cow-eyes at me for, son. Can't you find some other poor soul on this train who'll submit to your villainous charms?"

"Who said anything about _submitting_?" Meres smiled an indolent smile, and stretched in a way he probably thought was seductive. It wasn't bad, even for a man in a dressing gown - surely the most anaphrodisiac garment ever invented. His low, sensual voice did most of the work. Callan regarded himself as mostly inured to toffee-nosed accents; rather than making him want to tuck his forelock, they made him want to thump the speaker in the plum-filled mouth. But Meres' purr had distinct charm to which, after their previous assignations, Callan was not entirely immune. He closed his book.

"Alright, then, get your kit off."

Meres sat up, a rather surprised smile curving his lips.

"Are you this commanding with all your girlfriends? Foreplay's not something they do in tennis, you know."

"Sometimes. They like it. And so do you."

"I find it _insufferable_, if you must know." Maybe true, but he still liked it. Meres was already peeling out of his dressing gown. Callan reclined on his pillows and watched. He'd never done it on a train, come to think of it. It remained to be seen whether the rocking would enhance the experience or put him off his stroke.

Meres was unbuttoning his pyjama shirt. Not in the way girls unbuttoned their blouses, all teasing like, but just like he was keen to get undressed, like Callan had told him to. Callan would have found it hard to imagine Meres acting _eager_ for sex - he didn't think Toby liked to present himself in such a way to potential lovers, not really part of his seductive persona - but he was looking up through his eyelashes in a way that Callan might be forced to describe as 'coquettish'. He wondered whether this was what Meres was like with men, usually: sort of coy. He certainly hadn't been coy with Callan the couple of times they'd done it before.

Undressed men were hardly a new sight to Callan, nor was Toby Meres in particular; but they'd never done it in good light, so every time he discovered a little more about the body underneath the natty suits. Meres' face could have been that of a late undergraduate, at least when he smiled; but though he was tall and thin, his body betrayed the solidity and muscle of a man now nearly thirty, whose life often depended on his fitness. Jagged silvery nicks caught the light: knife wounds. No bullet wounds that Callan could see, though the old burn on his arm was a possible candidate - yes, wasn't that where he'd been badly grazed by that amateur? A body that had seen its fair share of dangerous situations. Callan wondered whether Meres ever found it necessary to make up a story to explain away the scars. He himself had a whole repertoire of more-or-less convincing lies to feed to girls. But Callan had the feeling that Meres didn't treat his conquests the way Callan treated his girlfriends. Callan actually liked them, for a start; Meres liked nobody, and especially not women.

"Planning to stay dressed for plausible deniability in case the chambermaid comes in? Or is this a hint you'd like me to undress you?"

"You ever heard, Toby, that patience is a virtue?" He was intrigued by that 'hint' - that was the kind of thing you did when you made love to birds, undressed them slowly and trailed your hands across their warm skin. He'd never really considered what it might feel like to be the object of that care: the women he went with weren't shy, but they let him take the lead. He'd once had to go undercover as a nouveau-riche sharpshooter on a hunting weekend, and, half-joking, he'd asked if Meres were available for the position of valet...No dice, but the idea of snooty Toby having to play servant had delighted and, yes, thrilled him a little.

"I've been told I don't have any virtues - by you, I think." That remark had, indeed, been Callan's, when Toby, assigned to acquire information by means of seduction, had made a token protest about his _virtue_ in a camp voice. It was not entirely true: Meres did have several good qualities, chief among them the ability to shoot straight. None, however, would satisfy the Christian definition of 'virtue'.

"And I stand by it. No, I tell a lie - your tailing in a motor's some of the best I've seen." Credit where credit was due. And Callan was curious to see how Meres would react to sincere flattery.

"A rare compliment." Meres was looking at him curiously. "I must say, David, if this is your new seduction strategy, I like it."

"Of course you do. Get over here." Meres obliged with a saunter that didn't disguise his eagerness. Callan was familiar by now with the way he kissed - smoothly, just like he did with those posh birds who weren't able to recognise the predator's teeth - and their mouths moved together easily. Whether Meres enjoyed kissing for its own sake was harder to tell, though Callan guessed that given the choice, Meres would already be sucking his brains out through his cock by now. But both of them were experienced enough to recognise the value of a little seduction, even devoid of true romance. And Callan _did_ like to kiss, and Meres was nowhere near stupid enough to let the chance to excite Callan pass him by.

The motion of the train was almost forgettable under the all-encompassing pleasure of leisurely necking, with Meres between Callan's legs. They had about ten hours on this train, there was no need to rush. And, unlike either of their flats, there was no need to take steps to counter surveillance.

By this time Meres had his fingers teasing Callan's waistband, and they were both breathing heavily. Meres had a look on his face like he was plotting something, and Callan _could_ just have taken hold of his head and gone on kissing, because it was fun to frustrate Toby and besides it made him squirm in a manner that Callan found very arousing; but there was a certain pleasure he'd discovered in letting one's partner take the lead during sex. He supposed it was the same attention that Meres lavished on his girlfriends, that had led that poor silly nit Susan Marsden to describe his technique in such flattering terms.

Meres was undressing him now, as he'd suggested earlier. Callan let him, curious about what Meres would do if allowed free rein. What _did_ Meres do to seduce those pretty trainees, or the handsome boys in Soho? Perhaps what he'd done with Callan the first time: lounged about suggestively and made eyes at him. No, that was too passive, and only because Meres had been unsure of his welcome; Callan could imagine him as much more forward, like when he was flirting information out of waitresses.

They were already in their sleeping clothes, and Meres was taking his time with Callan's buttons, kissing and nipping at the skin revealed. Callan saw little attraction in men's chests - they varied in amount of muscle and hair, and most importantly they lacked breasts - but he had noticed that Meres liked, or at least appeared to like, his body, and that included paying erotic attention to parts of himself that he had never previously thought of as having erotic possibilities, like his neck, or his nipples. It reminded Callan of how he himself 'warmed up' women. After a lifetime of being expected to orchestrate foreplay, it was strange but pleasant to be on the other side of the equation.

At last all the buttons were undone and Meres was confidently fondling his crotch with one big hand, and Callan was on his back wondering how Meres was going to progress from here. Meres had gone from kissing to biting, and Callan shuddered when Meres bit his nipple and a _zing_ of pleasure went right to his cock. Meres looked up at him with a triumphant grin, and did it again. No doubt he'd realised that he was the first person to do that, and the first person to discover that Callan liked it. He was bound to be insufferable about it, and Callan was a hair's breadth from flipping him onto his back and seeing how _he_ liked it, before Meres tugged at the waistband of Callan's pyjamas in a demanding fashion and began to slide down, down in a direction that surely suggested –

It did. Callan lifted his hips to let Meres pull down his trousers and underwear to reveal his erection. Meres nuzzled at Callan's abdomen leisurely, almost teasing. His hand slowly stroked Callan's inner thigh. No, definitely teasing.

Callan reaching down to tug Meres' hair. Not hard, though he wondered whether Toby might like that. Meres looked up at him, a mischievous light in his eyes. Still, compared to the stuff Meres usually got up to, this was positively innocent.

"You going to suck my cock, or just think about it?" Meres' mouth curved in recognition of his own phrasing parroted back at him. "I assume you _have_ thought about it," added Callan.

"It is the sole object of my hopes and dreams," intoned Meres facetiously, and laughed when Callan tugged harder at his hair. "Really, David, are you asking me to narrate my sexual fantasies to you? I wouldn't have pegged you for the type."

"So that's a yes, then. Go on, or I'm going to think you're all talk and no trousers."

And, shockingly compliant, Meres did.

Callan had, on occasion - no more than a double handful of occasions - been sucked off. He'd enjoyed the experience, but it wasn't something he asked of his girlfriends, and they didn't tend to offer; he was, at heart, slightly old-fashioned when it came to making love, though he'd certainly never had complaints. What he had _not_ experienced was this kind of sheer enthusiasm for doing it.

Meres took it slowly, but not out of diffidence. He took care over it. First he licked the head with the flat of his tongue, over and over; then he sucked on it, alternating soft and hard, and occasionally pressed his tongue into the sensitive spot underneath the glans, just where the foreskin attached. Callan was tempted to make a crack about his obvious aptitude for the flute, but didn't trust his voice. He was propping himself up on his elbows to watch Meres lavish attention on his cock, and he could feel his legs twitching and no doubt so could Meres. _Fuck._

It wasn't as if he hadn't _guessed_ that Meres would be good, even by more jaded standards than Susan Marsden's. But he hadn't been prepared for the erotic impact of Meres looking like he was thoroughly enjoying sucking Callan's cock. Enthusiasm could be faked, of course; but Callan didn't think Meres' was.

Callan's hand was still in Meres' hair. He stroked it a little as Meres sighed around his cock. Their eyes met. Callan swallowed at the same time Meres did.

He wanted to say something encouraging, but the kind of thing he'd have said to birds didn't seem appropriate here, and he couldn't muster sarcasm. The truth was that it felt good, but Meres already knew that and his ego didn't need the telling.

Meres took in more of Callan's cock now, still taking it slowly, letting it slide out of his mouth before he went down again and took in more each time, smooth and confident. His eyes kept flickering to Callan's face in a way that made him feel vulnerable; but he couldn't tear his gaze away to look at the carriage roof instead. He couldn't take his eyes off Meres sucking his cock. With their line of work, they might never have an opportunity like this one again.

Meres pulled off his cock with an obscene noise and looked at him thoughtfully, his hand still slowly stroking it.

"Do your girls usually do this?" he asked. "The newspaper reports say it's very common these days, among young people."

"Not so much," Callan admitted, ignoring the implied jibe about his age, and deciding that he didn't want to know what Toby's girls usually did. "It's normal for queers, isn't it?"

"Now, David, how _do_ you know that? No, don't tell me, let me imagine." Meres chanced a lick at the head of Callan's cock. "Absolutely commonplace, yes." Just think what you've been missing out on, his tone said.

Not much, to Callan's mind: he liked women, and he liked making love to women, with or without oral sex. If he'd wanted a man to suck him off, he'd have found one. Yes, the sex was good, really good. That wasn't why he kept coming back to Meres after their first ill-advised shag in Callan's squalid Bayswater flat.

"Does anything go on in that imagination of yours that _isn't_ sex or violence?" Callan wanted to know. He tugged Meres' hair again, just because.

Meres just smiled, unaffectedly for once - that boyish grin that made him look young and very handsome - and went back to sucking Callan's cock leisurely. He went down, down, unhurried and smooth, and it was like watching a parlour trick, the whole length of Callan's cock slowly disappearing into Meres' mouth.

Callan let out a wet gasp, and saw his own stomach muscles trembling. Meres held perfectly still, his eyes closed, all Callan's cock inside his mouth - could he even breathe? He swallowed and his throat contracted around and massaged the head of Callan's cock, and Callan made that noise again. God, he realised, he could come like this. Humid pressure and the wonderful rippling squeeze of Meres' throat. If only he'd get to it, go back to working Callan's cock - his imagination conjured the image of Meres' mouth bobbing up and down it.

Meres swallowed again, and pulled off - slowly. His face was quite pink. Callan found his own mouth was dry. His cock popped out of Meres' mouth and jutted away from his belly, red and wet and desperately hard.

"I hope you're not getting bored," said Meres mildly, and with his typical arch facetiousness. Before Callan could formulate an answer, he scrambled back up to kiss Callan while he kept stroking the cock he'd just been sucking, not fast enough to make him come but tight enough to send pleasurable shivers up Callan's spine.

Meres' mouth tasted like cock, but Callan didn't care. He grabbed Meres by the jaw and throat and kissed him fiercely, shoving his tongue into Meres' mouth. Meres seemed startled at first, but then gave as good as he got. He jumped when one of Callan's hands let go of his jaw to reach down and squeeze his arse roughly, but then made agreeable noises into Callan's mouth. When Callan squeezed his throat too, he _really_ moaned. His blunt nails dug into Callan's shoulder and chest, then scratched.

Meres pulled away with a hazy and distracted look. "Here," he muttered, leaning down and patting at his discarded dressing-gown pockets. Callan took the opportunity to look at him unobserved. Pale, muscled, his erection as eager-looking as Callan's own. His enthusiasm definitely hadn't been faked, then. It was a hard man's body, and Callan thought again how strange it was that he'd never been bent, not in the army, not in the Scrubs, but here he was about to - eager to - bugger this specific man, who would shed no tears if Callan died on this stupid assignment.

Then Meres came back up, Vaseline pot in hand, and they kissed some more while Meres smoothed the cool lubricant all over Callan's cock and smiled into Callan's mouth when Callan thrust up into his grip.

The few times - less than a handful - they'd done this before, Callan had done him from behind, and he'd seemed to like that well enough. But the cock-sucking had made him curious, so he pulled away from Meres' hungry mouth and asked,

"Here, how do you like it?"

"Like this." And Meres straddled his lap, Callan's Vaseline-coated cock in hand.

In this position, Callan was ideally positioned to watch exactly what was going on between their bodies. And he did. He watched Meres pressed the tip of Callan's cock to his hole, then slowly sink down. He felt and watched his cock disappearing inside Meres' warm body at the same time, and it made his head fizz. Meres' mouth had dropped open, his body gone tense and still like it did whenever Callan had penetrated him before. He looked like he was concentrating on something far away. His eyes were closed. Callan took the opportunity to really look at him, his flushed face, his dishevelled hair, his erection twitching occasionally as he slowly took in Callan's cock with every appearance of almost unbearable pleasure.

At last Meres was fully seated, and they panted together, Callan's forehead pressed into Meres' sweaty neck. He took hold of Meres' waist and stroked his back, gentler than he'd ever been with him. Meres sighed again like he'd sighed around Callan's cock in his mouth earlier. Callan could feel his cock throbbing inside Meres and, finding Meres' long throat just there, lapped at his pulse; and, when Meres twitched, he bit down.

Meres threw his arms around Callan's shoulders and let out a hoarse noise, his body jolting around Callan's cock. Callan did it again, and Meres' hole clenched around him deliciously. It made him wonder just how rough he could be with Meres.

Then Meres' hands seized hold of his shoulders, and he started to move.

Callan had had a casual affair with a girl who liked to start making love in this position - it made the initial penetration easier, she explained. But trying to fuck in it was more trouble than it was worth. Later on he'd done it with other girls too, and everybody involved had been well satisfied, but her comment stuck in his mind. And it _was_ a bit more trouble, for him at least - but having Meres in his lap was reminding him of what he'd liked about it - the intimacy, the feeling of a slim waist heaving in his hands, the deep penetration that made the body shudder around him whenever he rolled his hips up.

Meres made noises in his ear, too, soft gasps and pants whenever he sank down again onto Callan's cock. Callan didn't know what could feel so good about getting buggered, but he knew that poofs liked it, and he could see for himself just how much Meres liked it. He wanted to joke about it, _What, is it so good you've given up trying it the other way?_ He'd sometimes thought that Meres might enjoy having nasty things whispered in his ear. What held him back was that Meres would be more than happy to say nasty things in return - nasty about things Callan didn't want to dig up.

He let go of Meres' waist and took a good double handful of his arse instead. It made it easier to help him move up and down, and Meres moaned again when he squeezed it roughly. Callan got scratches down his back for his trouble, the kind with a good sting.

They moved together easily, instinctively. The first time they'd done it had been good, and this was even better, the way sex always got better the more you did it with somebody. They practised on each other's bodies, learned them, and if only it could be this easy on assignments together, if only Meres could be this yielding and accommodating for anything apart from sex.

In a matter of hours, they were going to be lying in a German ditch. They might not make it back. Callan bit Meres' neck again and fucked him harder, and relished Meres' stuttering pants breathing hot against his temple. He was deliciously responsive, so responsive Callan had once accused him of faking, except that Meres had laughed and said that faking was so much _effort_ when you could just tell a man to fuck you better - surely, David, it's not faith in your own technique that's lacking? I assure you, I've had _no_ complaints...

No complaints here, either. Well, the lack of breasts; but it wasn't as if Meres could do much about that. Callan bent his head to tongue at a nipple, and one of Meres' hands pulled at his hair. He knew what it meant. He bit down, and was rewarded by a shuddering sigh. Toby liked a bit of rough stuff, both giving and taking - mostly giving, but if he wanted that he'd have to look elsewhere, because Callan wasn't for taking anything rougher than clawmarks, and Toby wasn't stupid enough to push.

He wasn't paying any attention to the rocking of the train - so much for his earlier wondering. He braced himself against the headboard - when had they shifted so far up the bed? - and really let Meres have it, growling into his neck and biting and sucking hard enough that Meres would have the bruises for a day or so. Meres liked that even more. Callan wished he had a hand free to squeeze his throat again, because he'd seen how much Meres liked that. Maybe next time, since Meres seemed intent on seducing him in the aftermath of their jobs. The violence probably got him hot.

Together they worked towards a messy, shuddering climax. Meres clawed his back again in encouragement. Callan managed to hang on until Meres went rigid in his lap and his hips ground down spasmodically on Callan's cock - when Meres had said he liked it this way, Callan hadn't realised that meant he could go off with barely a stroke of his cock right at the end - and Callan knew he was digging his nails in as he thrust up again and again into Meres' tight welcoming body, and finally came in hot stomach-wrenching pulses.

Meres managed to acquire a cigarette from his dressing gown pocket, afterwards, and made use of the courtesy box of matches left next to Callan's bed. Callan had been right that he smoked only post-coitally. As before, he didn't seem inclined to spoil the afterglow. He was like one of those cats that was normally aloof, but if they deigned to cuddle you they'd stay until you shooed them off. Or perhaps it was just to share Callan's body heat in the distinctly intemperate sleeping car. Callan reached over for a handkerchief - god, turned out doing it in that position made come get _everywhere_ \- and then, in anticipation of their uncongenial hours they would spent lying in a German ditch or traipsing through no-man's land, closed his eyes and dozed. Toby could do as he liked.

He woke a few minutes later to the feeling of the mattress lifting and the lamp being turned out. Pyjamas were flung lightly onto his chest - sensible, since without another human body his bed was chilly. Lit by the moonlight coming through the carriage windows, he pulled on the trousers and went to work on the shirt - only to have his hands batted away so Meres could do the buttons up himself. The light touch and the feeling of Meres looming over him in the dark were somehow more intimate than the sex.

Meres dressed too, and they both got into their separate beds, quite naturally. Callan knew that Meres, like himself, could go to sleep almost instantly while on a job - the greatest weakness for a soldier or assassin was fatigue, that retardant of reflexes and wit. It was only off the job that he had trouble sleeping.

The phantom touch of Meres - affectionately? patronisingly? - buttoning his shirt for him haunted him for the few minutes before he sank into blissful unconsciousness.


End file.
